


Unorthodox

by sleepydemons



Category: Insidious (Movies)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Demons, Developing Friendships, Flirting, Ghosts, M/M, Paranormal Investigators, barista
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:12:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6759136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepydemons/pseuds/sleepydemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker is a barista at a 24 hour cafe. Taking the graveyard shift usually means little to no customers in the early hours, however an awkwardly mysterious new customer catches his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First encounter

The first time Tucker sets eyes on Specs it’s a rather dismal Sunday. He sees hundreds of people come and go, so why on earth would he notice this one particular person? Why has he been subtly staring at the same man for the past hour? Well because it’s two in the goddamn morning.

Taking the graveyard shift in the café is something no other employee wants but Tucker. To him it’s a dream. From 12AM to 6AM the place is usually dead, and Tucker can laze around and take advantage of the free coffee - getting paid to do so. Then when it starts to pick up around 5AM he gets the joy (zero sarcasm intended) of watching zombified sleepy looking business people arrive to caffeinate themselves and leave as a completely different, more altogether looking person. It never ever fails to amuse and impress him.

Granted, there are people who stroll into the café at such early hours, however those people Tucker wouldn’t even consider customers. For instance, he’s had the company of a rather disheveled middle aged man sleeping on one of the couches, his free tap water long forgotten for over an hour now. Still, seeing a rather normal-ish healthy looking man walk into this café at 2AM catches Tucker off guard for sure. This isn't New York.

The man staggers in, stumbling over his heavy looking rucksack, he's windswept and red cheeked from the stormy weather. He throws himself down on possibly the least comfortable chair in the almost entirely _empty_ café, rummages in his pocket for a second or three, and pulls out a pair of glasses, putting them on and sighing contently, as if they were his source of oxygen. He takes a couple of deep breaths and makes the effort to pat his hair down before he goes up to the counter that Tucker is casually leaning over the opposite side of.

The noticeably short man politely asks for a large white coffee and hands over a precise handful of coins. Now that he’s stood right in front of Tucker, he notices the glasses he is wearing have small torches on either side that sort of make the man look like a mad scientist. It makes Tucker kinda sad that the man had already flattened his hair before getting up to order because that _would_  have been a picture. Tucker snickers at the thought.

“What?” The other man says, now looking unimpressed at tucker.

“Nothing, uh… What’s with the specs, I guess?”

He up at Tucker blankly for a moment before his eyes widen slightly. He whips his glasses off, unclips the first torch and nods in embarrassment as he struggles removing the other. “just finished a job, didn’t have much time to pack up. Well, uh, I was actually kind of thrown out of the house before I got the chance to uh, _finish_ the job, so.”

Tucker pretends not to notice this guy’s very apparent blush, though he wont lie, it’s cute. He nods in fake understanding because what else is he supposed to do, maybe the guy isn’t as normal as he first thought. Though he _is_ intriguing, that’s for fucking sure.

“Need a hand?” He asks the still struggling specs-guy.

“Do you mind?” the man looks exasperated, handing the glasses over to Tucker in defeat, then looking back at the glasses in annoyance when Tucker unclasps the remaining torch with ease, handing them back to their owner with a slight smirk.

“Thanks, uh,” the guy squints at Tucker’s name tag “… Tucker.”

“No problem, Mr Specs.”

Mr Specs… Maybe just Specs for now, grins widely at him and Tucker finds himself grinning back, he clears his throat before he says “So you got kicked out, huh? That sucks.”

“Not out of _my_ home. Don’t worry, I'm not planning on crashing here for the night like _that_ gentleman.” Specs jerks his head toward the sleeping man to the left of them.

“Right.” Tucker chuckles at Specs’ lightheartedness of his current situation. The guy looks like he’s had a fight with a thunderstorm; elbows leaning on the counter for support, clearly physically exhausted, yet he’s still smiling away. He admires it.

“Large flat white, right? You should probably sit down, I can bring it over.” Specs thanks him with a grateful nod and that already winning smile and heads back to his table. Now he's somewhat relaxed, he looks unsure of what to do with his hands. He brings a notepad from his bag that is  _way_ too oversized for someone of his size, and starts to scribble down relentlessly. Tucker hopes he can get a sneaking look when he brings Specs' order over, but Specs hurries it back into his bag as soon as he hears Tucker walking over.

“So I’m guessing you’re not planning on getting a good night’s rest tonight, hm?” Tucker teases him, gesturing to the size of Specs’ coffee once he’s placed it onto the table.

“Not at all. I still have work to do. Sleep comes second.” Specs responds in one breath.

Tucker cant help but laugh at the seriousness of the response, sounding like a typical college student whose left all their work right up to the last minute. “So you have college deadlines or somethin’?” He knows he’s being pushy, but who cares, this guy is the most fun Tucker has had all day.

“In a way… Each case is most certainly time sensitive. But college? No.”

Is he enjoying being so mysterious, Tucker wonders. He feels like maybe he should leave Specs to his coffee and notepad of secrets, but he decides maybe one more try wont hurt. “So what _do_ you do?” He attempts to say it in a conversational manner and not at all like he wants to know Specs' life story... Which he absolutely does and if Specs was willing to share, he'd pull up a chair...

Specs freezes up for a moment and then smiles into his cup of coffee, after a long sip he leaves Tucker with “Let’s just say what I do is... unorthodox.”


	2. The Second Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Specs blushes... a lot.

 

The next time Specs visits the café at ridiculous o'clock, Tucker doesn't hear him enter. He's too busy enjoying one of the gourmet versions of Hot Pockets they sell there. Just as great tasting without the radiation, he thinks.

So when he starts getting a bit vocal over how great this pocket of deliciousness tastes, groans and all, in what he thought was an empty café, he opens his eyes to see none other than Specs himself; his entire face blushing. However featuring a confident smirk and playfully judging eyes.

Tucker, excited to finally see Specs again to even care what he’d most likely just overheard, rushes up from his lounging position and asks "Can I help you, sir?" obnoxiously around a mouth full of food.

 "Oh." Specs looks down and Tucker notices that his smirk has dropped. He then hurriedly looks back up to the menu above them, his panicking eyes scanning the entire menu. "I'll just have a, uh..."

Catching Specs' poor dispirited face makes Tucker feel like a bit of an asshole and he breaks his act into a laugh. "I'm just messing with you, Specs. I remember you."

He notices Specs' eyes light up and it makes him feel _good_ to know the interest is mutual because Tucker wonders how he has even given Specs a reason to even remember him - that one nosy barista he met at two in the morning, earlier in the week.

Specs states his order with a smile as warm as how Tucker feels right now. This is stupid, he thinks. He really needs to get out more if this is the impact one customer coming into his cafe has on him.

Tucker notices that his awkwardly mysterious customer looks like he’s cleaned himself up a bit. He’s wearing a shirt and tie and his hair looks vaguely styled, he quite arrogantly wonders whether Specs has made the effort on Tucker's behalf. His eyes are still dark underneath, like he hasn’t greeted sleep since the last time he visited here.

* * *

 

Tucker has been watching Specs scribbling in a large sketchpad since he found himself a table, his movements rash and large, his whole arms moving also, not much different to a hyper child’s method of drawing. He hopes once again that when he comes up behind Specs to serve his order, he’ll get a glimpse at what is on the paper that is taking up all of his attention. And this time he succeeds.

“Fuck man, that scared the shit outta me.” Tucker snorts accidentally, now feeling kinda gross. And thank god he was he was holding Specs’ coffee tightly. What was he expecting the man to be drawing, a fucking field of flowers? But no, he obviously wasn't expecting to find a nightmarish black mass of monster filling up the page.

Specs doesn’t look up to Tucker, he hurries the pad into his huge bag and mutters a thank you to Tucker for the coffee. He gulps it down so that he has a reason not to look or speak to Tucker, who is still standing there like a dog waiting to be thrown a ball.

After a second, he breaks the silence. “I got it!” Tucker clicks his fingers, excited at whatever he’s just added up in his brain. “You’re an artist.” He continues when Specs' face doesn’t change other than a raised eyebrow. “Like a disturbed sort, right? Those who can’t sleep until their thoughts are out of their head and onto paper or whatever. I’m right aren’t I?”

Tucker really didn’t see Specs as the brooding type, he looked too uncertain of himself. But that drawing was no doodle; that was the work of someone with an intense form of imagination.

Specs sort of feels bad that he’s about to destroy Tucker’s well thought out ‘gotcha’ moment. But he can’t resist. “No, not at all. Well, no, yes I am. But not the kind you’re thinking. I’m a very specific kind of artist, come to think of it I’m probably the only kind, I…” Specs stammers.

“You should note that everything you just said only backs up my reasons to believe you _are_ a dramatic artist.” Tucker interrupts with a deadpan tone.

Specs could feel his heart beating faster, knowing that he may have to tell Tucker the truth. He really didn’t feel in the mood to be someone’s joke today. He was used to that just by reading the comment section of his blog. “I draw things for people. What they see, or mostly feel. And anyway, drawing is only a small part of the job, I don’t really do it often, it’s-“

“None of my business.” Tucker interrupts again, feeling like he’s coming off as plain rude, but he is realising that he has gotten Specs worked up and the poor guy looks like he needs a break and Tucker isn’t at all providing a pleasant service right now. He agrees to himself to back off, no matter how tempting the man in front of him is. “I was just teasing. Sort of. You’re kinda fascinating to me.”

The comment makes Specs smile uncontrollably, he can’t conceal it. It’s nice to feel like somebody is actually interested in what he does. It's a rarity. He would enjoy this moment for what it was and not tell himself that it’s only because he doesn’t know what it is that Specs actually does, and if he did he’d probably run a mile.

“But I get it, Specs. I’ll back off.” Tucker speaks slowly, raising his arms up and walking backward towards the counter. Now it's Tucker that feels like the awkward and dorky one, but he continues because he can still see Specs' grin refusing to leave his face.

“It’s Steven, actually.” Specs calls to him.

“Sure thing, Specs.” Tucker calls back from across the café.

When Specs turns around to Tucker not much later, he sees that the bearded barista is already fixated on him. He gives him a wink and carries on working.

Specs can feel his blush burn at his cheeks and at the back of his neck, not even needing to look in a mirror to tell that his face is the colour of the red pencil he was using on his demon just moments ago.


	3. Time to Tell

Specs is woken with a gentle prod to his cheek, when he opens his eyes, they feel heavy and sticky with sleep, he lifts his head up steadily from the table, one cheek red and cold from prolonged pressure against it. He sits up as straight as he can manage and rests his head in his hands, the usual calming orange glow of the café now felt like staring at a summer sun, his head felt so heavy in his hands that could feel his own brain throbbing, probably from the uncomfortable position he’d been sleeping in for the past hour or so, but most likely from that being the longest he’s slept this week.

“What on earth were you doing?” Tucker asks with genuine concern. He was tempted to leave Specs to rest while he got on with his shift, but it was already 5 am and the café was likely to be getting busier in the next half hour, and he doesn’t think that Specs would appreciate Tucker leaving him to be stared at and have tuts of disapproval aimed at him by the more formal customers, all for the sake of sleep.

Specs is silent for a minute, his head still in his hands, appreciating the darkness. When he eventually looks up to Tucker, Tucker can see just how exhausted he looks, he is paler than usual, a sickly pale, still with a shade of bruising purple under his eyes. He looked undeniably rough.

Specs tries to speak out, but his voice is small and coarse. Tucker points to the glass of water he'd placed beside Specs before he woke him. Specs drinks the entirety like he’s been deprived of water for a month and takes a deep breath. “I was waiting for _you._ ”  His response accusatory. His voice was much clearer now, but still croaking at times.

He succeeds in making Tucker feel guilty. “I do have a life outside of making coffee, y’know.” He jokes, taking Specs’ empty glass and walking back to the counter.

“Of course, sorry.” Specs apologizes, starting to regret his previous sharp response.

“Do you want a coffee? On me of course, for making you wait. Though in my defense, I wasn’t aware we had a date. I would have given you my number if I knew you were so interested.” He’s still sticking to his own promise of leaving Specs alone for the most part, but figures there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of harmless flirting, especially when it leaves Specs flustered and not knowing how to react.

Specs attempts to disagree, but his head is still pulsing and the effort feels too great to bother, he gives up and goes back to resting his head back on the table. “Thanks.”

He had been _so_  ready to tell Tucker what it was he did for a living. He’d waited around in the café for hours, having to order drinks and snacks continuously as to not annoy the unpleasant barista working at the time. He welcomed Tucker’s presence at last. But now he felt tired and groggy and unprepared for a bad reaction from Tucker, which was a high possibility…

Specs stays in the café for most of the morning, minding his own business, reading a black book and scribbling notes as he went along. Whilst Tucker carried on with his busy morning shift, though still glancing over to Specs every ten minutes or so, just to check he’s alright, but he keeps his distance. If Specs wants to talk to him, he will. If not, well Tucker can carry on being the charming barista he is _only_  when taking and serving the other man’s order. Specs’ seems to have livened up after consuming the free coffee and muffins courtesy of Tucker, and he also notices that his complexion has return to a healthy peachy colour.

Later in the morning, when Tucker is serving orders, Specs loiters around the counter for a short while before asking “Can I see you later?” nervously. “This evening perhaps, will you be here?”

Tucker lets Specs know when his next shift starts and they both agree to see each other then, with Specs rushing out of the café, but stopping to wave through the window once he was about to turn the corner. Extremely dorky, Tucker can’t help but think endearingly towards Specs.

* * *

 

When they meet again, it’s 1 am. Tucker had informed specs that his night shift started at 11:30, but he had to make sure that when he finally told Tucker the truth, no one would be there to comment or stare. He didn’t need an audience. His job wasn’t a stand up act. He tries not to ponder why he was making all this effort for the barista he’d become friendly with in odd circumstances.

He waves Tucker over when they are the only two left in the café.

“So what’s up, man?” Tucker asks, intrigued by this arranged meeting and the terrified expression Specs is failing to conceal.

He motions to the chair opposite him and Tucker sits down, leaning toward Specs like he’s about to share a shocking secret. He can hope...

Specs ducks his head under the table and rummages in his large bag of tricks, pulling out the same well worn black notepad he had been using this morning. He inhales deeply and then apprehensively slides it over to Tucker.

When Tucker’s expression doesn’t change, continuously looking to and from the notebook and Specs, the smaller man sighs. “Go ahead, have a look.”

Tucker flicks through the filled pages silently and stops mid way with a serious face, his forehead creased and eyes squinted.

He reads the page aloud:

“Forth of September, 2010. Day 8. Case of the Spencer Family. Overview: Spencer family have been experiencing mild paranormal activity in their holiday home for the past three years. Attempting to sell property, however said activity is preventing any buyers. Looking to clear out spirits ASAP.” Tucker’s tone never changes, and Specs is grateful that he hasn’t broke into hysterics… yet.

He closes the book and looks Specs in the eyes as sincerely as he can. Specs finds himself unnerved. He prepares himself for humiliation.

Tucker breaks the tense silence first “… So.”

Stay calm. Prepare for the worst. Specs reminds himself repeatedly.

“You’re a… ghostbuster?” Tucker asks with genuine uncertainty.

“Paranormal investigator, formally speaking.”

“You seen anything with your own eyes?” Tucker asks, his expression curious, but unchanging. So far so good, Specs breathes out a small unnoticeable sigh of relief.

“I guess. I’ve seen activity. Not an actual ghostly figure, that’s very rare , I'd say.”

Honestly, Specs is taken aback by Tucker’s calm and non-patronising interest. He wasn’t sure what to expect, no matter how much he tries to convince himself of the worst.

Tucker is about to ask more questions when someone walks in and straight up to the counter. Tucker rushes up. “Be right back.” He apologises to Specs and goes to serve the customer. When Tucker has served the order, he looks back to find Specs' table now empty.

As he walked over to his table to clear away the used tablewear, he noticed a napkin with writing on it. he flipped it round into view and read the ink writing: spectralsightings.com


	4. Spectral Sightings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Specs is kinda bitchy and defensive...

When the customer walks in, it’s like Specs is snapped back into reality. He was a fool to hope that Tucker could be different. No one wants to be associated with a man who calls out to the dead for a day job, or more accurately a _night_ job. Tucker couldn’t have rushed away from the conversation, _from Specs_ , fast enough. Still, when he looks up to see the bearded barista glance back at Specs, he decides to not give up on him just yet…

He scribbles down his blog URL on an unused napkin, and puts his now empty mug down on the corner to prevent the napkin from flying away when he would exit the café. He would leave it to Tucker to visit his blog and decide for himself what he believed. And when he came in the next day, if Tucker were to act as if Specs never existed, he would accept that. He grabs his things and leaves the café, quiet as a mouse when Tucker’s back is turned.

* * *

 

Tucker types the URL into the search bar as soon as he arrives at his apartment. It’s still dark outside and Tucker doesn’t bother switching on any lights, he heads straight to his laptop, buried under a pile of clothes that he hasn’t yet gotten round to cleaning. When Specs’ blog has fully loaded, Tucker chuckles inwardly, it’s not at all as he expected. Specs came off as a professional, but the blog’s layout seemed to tell a different story. The head title ‘Spectral Sightings’ was in a gooey neon green Halloween-type font. The background was Specs’ presumed logo, plastered repeatedly, of a cartoon ghost, with the same gooey Halloween font that read ‘Spectral Sightings’ in the centre. 

“Subtle.” Tucker mutters to himself. It was adorable to think of Specs going to all this effort to make his blog as impressive as he could imagine.

He scrolls down and begins to read Specs’ latest post, titled ‘Haunt or be Haunted” Specs goes on to explain in thorough detail how and why a deceased person find themselves trapped between this life and the next versus who and why they haunt. Tucker’s eyes feel heavy from the long shift, but he presses on until he has finished the whole post. What Specs is explaining is plain ludicrous… but utterly possible. He promises himself to look further into the blog's contents once he’s got some rest. Just in case, he leaves his laptop open still on Specs’ page. He allows himself to drop down on his bed, instantly sinking into silent slumber.

* * *

 

The next night, Specs returns to the café, sitting down at his usual table. Not ready to look to Tucker just yet.

Tucker walks around the counter and over to Specs, who is torturously great at playing hot and cold with Tucker. “Hey.” He places his hand on Specs’ shoulder and squeezes gently. “You told me you’re a ghost hunter, but neglected to mention that you _yourself_ are a ghost. Where’d you disappear to last night?” He tries to keep his voice light-hearted, he really doesn’t want to give Specs a reason to shut down on him.

Specs finds himself unable to break his eye-contact with Tucker, but the man now opposite him didn’t look freaked, or look at Specs like _he_ was a freak. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t sure how you might respond. I’m not so great with confrontation.” He admitted.

“I’m a big believer in each to their own.” Tucker objected.

“In other words, you _do_ think I’m crazy, only you don’t particularly care.” Specs retorts, shaking in head and laughing falsely.

“Why does it matter to you what I think, or for that matter whether I care?” Tucker asks, his eyebrows furrowed, his expression irritated.

“It doesn’t.” Specs hits back, feeling flustered. He fixes his glasses back into position.

“Good. It shouldn’t.”

The silence that followed was awkward to say the least, yet neither of them broke eye-contact.

“A small black coffee would be great if you get a moment, thanks.” Specs says, sick of Tucker just standing there, watching him like he’s some zoo exhibit.

“Right.” Tucker bluntly responds with a dry laugh, walking away without another word and back behind the counter.

 _Low blow, Steven._ Specs scolded himself inwardly. He’s tired of feeling so damn defensive over this job. And Tucker just validated what he’s been trying to convince _himself_ all these years– it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks. He looks over to Tucker who’s busying himself with Specs' unwanted order, he feels like a foul excuse for a friend. Sort of friend. Who even knew what to call whatever it was they had going on between them.

Neither of them attempt to interact for sometime after. Specs passes the time by writing up his unfinished cases and Tucker makes the most of the unlimited coffee whilst lounging on one of the scruffy, supposedly 'vintage', loveseat sofas they have dotted around the café. Soon enough Tucker gives up waiting for Specs to approach him first and calls him over. Specs stays seated, uncertain if he can trust himself to speak after their last conversation.

Tucker can see Specs’ hesitation from across the room. “Come on.” He pats the empty patch of sofa beside him “I won’t bite.” He pauses and smirks. “Not sure about you though.”

Specs end up joining Tucker on the old battered sofa, they’re both leaning into the middle of the sofa, due to the insides all broken down from continuous use. Tucker can feel how tensed up Specs is now, too solid for comfort.

Tucker sighs. “Fuck, okay. I’m not gonna lie and tell you that I think what you do isn’t outrageous to me. It is.”

Specs’ head is bowed, and he nods without a sound at Tucker’s comment. Like he’s a child getting told off by his teacher.

Tucker lowers his head also, trying to catch Specs’ eyes. “Oi.” He whispers, he waits for Specs to lift his head up before he continues. “You _did_ warn me what you do is unorthodox, remember?” Again, Specs nods into his own lap.

“What I mean to say is that I believe that _you_ believe strongly about this. And I appreciate you letting me know, when clearly it’s a sensitive subject for you.”

“I can be a bit defensive, I know. It’s just… I’ve been given a lot of shit and skepticism throughout my working life because of what I do.” Specs looks up to Tucker with a lousy expression. “Sometimes it’s easier to not let people in. But I don’t know,” His voice grows kinder, “you were so obsessed and I couldn’t shoo you away.”

Tucker slaps his hand to his chest and gasps. “How dare you.”

Tucker can feel Specs’ body loosen up as he shakes with laughter. “But really, I figured you’d be worth the risk. You seem alright.”

“Alright?” Tucker repeats in mock disgust. “You’re too kind.”

“Shut up, you know what I’m trying to say..” Specs nudges Tucker’s shoulder with his own. Tucker feels content in seeing Specs’ genuine smile return.

They sit there in comfortable silence, smiling outwardly to the empty café.

“I have an idea.” Tucker perks up, turning his body in towards Specs. Specs duplicates the movement, forcing himself  against his better judgement to be more open with the other man.

“Okay, well. This may be a stupid thought. But I’m not wholly convinced by the existence of ghosts, but I wouldn’t be _opposed_ to having that change. So maybe…” He feels like he’s done enough implying to get Specs to get it, but unsurprisingly Specs is clueless. “I was just thinking it could be a cool idea for you to invite me along to one of your cases, I don’t know.” He hurries the sentence from his mouth.

Immediately Specs’ resting smile transforms into a beam and he eagerly jumps on the offer. “Yes, yes. You should come along. Yes.” Specs’ voice breathy and excited

“And you don’t have to worry” Tucker states with a devious smirk. “I’ll be very professional.”


	5. Temporary Partner

Specs figures that he’s only got one real shot to prove to Tucker the legitimacy of not only the afterlife, but his work. His job consumed him and he wasn’t ashamed of it. There were people out there who needed help, who had nobody to turn to. Who were being treated like Specs had been throughout his career – deluded.

He stayed up most of the night searching through his previous cases and even turning to the internet to find a place with the heaviest amount of activity. So many choices.

* * *

 

Crackling echoes through the chilling darkness that surrounds the two men. Specs whips round, grabbing onto Tucker’s upper arm and shaking it in excitement. “Did you hear that?” Specs exclaims.

“Oh. My Bad.” Tucker replies, his voice muffled by something…

Specs aims his torch over to Tucker, the weak light revealing his treat filled hands. “What happened to being professional?” Specs sighs with a roll of his eyes. He turns his back on Tucker and carries on cautiously down the narrow, partially flooded corridor without him.

“Getting my energy levels up…” Tucker mumbles to himself in defense.

“If you’re not gonna take this seriously, you _can_ go home, just so you know. I don’t need entertaining.” Specs snappily whispers when Tucker has caught back up to him.

“Chill out. I’m spending my day off to do this, aren’t I?”

 _True…_ Specs admits to himself. He feels like he can’t ease up until Tucker starts taking this seriously, but maybe serious simply isn’t in his nature… He still has mixed feelings about Tucker’s intentions. He isn't ready to let his guard down yet, at least not until he and Tucker find some proof of paranormal phenomena.

Specs reflected on how long it had been since he had a partner to accompany him on cases. There was a time when Specs was looking for someone else to join him in Spectral Sightings. It was a lot of work for just one man, he still struggled now, five years on. But any person he attempted to work alongside with never lasted long. Some tagged along for a gag, others had personalities that clashed with Specs’. Specs wasn’t a demanding person to work with, not at all, all he asked of all these people was commitment and to bring a seriousness to the subject. But it was hard for even the believers to take the job seriously when they couldn’t take _Specs_ seriously. Soon enough he gave up on looking for a partner and found comfort in only having himself to depend on. Apart from his clients, Specs’ hadn’t felt the need to prove himself to anyone in a long time. So what had changed now? And what was it about Tucker that reminded him of his loneliness?

When they reach their destination, the doorway is blocked by a weathered stained wood bookshelf. Specs pushes his weight against it and in return the bookshelf make little to no movement. After a couple of feeble tries, Specs loses his footing and falls to his knees. He cursed and seethed at the sharp jolt of pain. He smacks the bookshelf pointlessly in embarrassment.

Specs brushes the knees of his pant legs after Tucker helps him back onto two feet. “No use.” He groaned, discouraged.

“Hold on.” Tucker said, heading to the bookshelf and then pulling the opposite side of it toward him with great difficulty. After a few attempts, it finally budges and Specs helps him out the rest of the way.

Tucker allows Specs to go down the pitch black that is the basement first, like it was some kind gesture. It comforts Specs to know that this place is actually having some sort of unnerving affect on Tucker. _He’s not made of stone after all…_

They settled in the basement of the abandoned building. Specs insisting that this was the room that they’d have the highest chance of catching something _spooky_.

Tucker eases himself down on the bottom step beside Specs. “So what’s the deal with this place? What’s the history?”


	6. The Haunting of St Mary's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what’s the deal with this place? What’s the history?”

Tucker heads over to sit beside Specs on the last step of the stairway, who is concentrating on emptying the contents of his backpack. It was a bit of a squeeze, but neither of them complained nor cared. They appreciated the other’s body heat. It had been chilly enough from up where they came, but as soon as they entered the basement, each breath they took felt like inhaling ice.

 “So what’s the deal with this place? What’s the history?” For the whole journey to Specs’ supposedly haunted spot, Tucker had been nagging him on where it was they were actually headed and why he had chosen it. And annoyingly, Specs remained a mystery.

“St Mary’s was an all-boys boarding school back in the sixties.” Specs replied, his head down, fiddling with a gadget that looked like it belonged in the trash.

“One night a number of the students decided they would play a game of hide and seek, the number too large for anyone to care to keep count. The ga-“

 “Wait a second,” Tucker interrupted. “Your story would be much more effective if you held this under your face.” He held his torch just below Specs’ chin. “And if you can speak in a deep, slow voice, all the better.”

 “Knock it off. Do you wanna know or not?” Specs knocked the torch away from under his chin and gave Tucker a harmless nevertheless irritated glare.

 “… Continue.”

“So, where was I? Right, hide and seek. Well. One of the students decided to hide down _here_ , probably surprised it was unlocked, which it never usually was. Meaning it was the perfect hiding place. He hid under these stairs.”

Tucker shines his torch beside the staircase in direction to the hiding spot. All he saw was brick wall. “But, how?”

“Anyway, the game finished and no one came looking for him. Naturally assuming that the basement was locked. Eventually the student soon got tired of waiting to be caught and headed back up the stairs, but now the basement door really _was_ locked. And, uh, shit…” Specs' voice trails off, distracted. He smacks the junky looking device and then resorts to shaking it repeatedly, in attempt to bring it to life.

“Give it here.” Tucker groans, grabbing it and started fiddling around at the back of the device. Wondering how Specs even managed on his own, _he's hopeless_. The device beeped itself to life and startled both of them. Specs, a little smug to see that Tucker’s clearly a little on edge as well. He focuses on his breathing for a short few seconds before handing it back to Specs. _Get your shit together Tucker, you’re scared of nothing remember?_

 “Thank you. He wasn’t reported missing until later the next day. The headmaster informed the students that it was likely that Tommy, the missing student, had ran away, and that the matter was out of her hands. However the boys knew that wasn’t what happened. They were aware of how difficult it was, impossible even, to escape. Each room had bars on the windows and every door that leads to the outside was locked and then padlocked for extra measure. I believe it was then that the students started questioning whether St Mary's was their home or their prison.”

 “Spooky.” Tucker gruffly adds, but Specs can see right through him. The story was getting to him so easily, why is he even surprised? He pretends not to notice when Tucker keeps tilting his head to the side of the staircase to take a paranoid peek.

“Some of the students reported hearing inaudible shouts and screams in the evenings that followed Tommy’s disappearance, but could never pinpoint where exactly the sounds were coming from. Over the next few years, it became tradition for students to play ‘hide and go find Tommy’ in the dead of night. They would sing his name in attempt to lure him out. Two of the students had been searching the lower floor when they heard the basement door creak open on its own, like it had been given a small push from inside. They both reported that they'd tried to check the basement moments before, but that the door had been locked. When they reached the bottom of the stairs they felt the temperature drop and not just that, but how the silence down there wasn’t just silence, it was ‘make your ears hurt’ silence. They'd said that they knew the moment they reached the bottom of the stairs that they’d found Tommy. Neither one dared to sing his name. Officially creeped out, they headed quickly back up the stairs, too scared to continue their game, but stopped in stunned silence halfway when they heard scratching coming from underneath their feet.”

Again, Specs noticed Tucker becoming steadily uncomfortable. Now shuffling on the wooden staircase they were both sitting on.

“The boys looked under and saw the recently bricked wall. They knew and they knew the other knew. The authorities had the wall ripped down the next day; they found his remains crawled up into a corner. There’s a lot of speculation on who was responsible and who was involved in covering it up, but no one was sent down for it. I think that’s why Tommy’s spirit can’t leave yet, he needs a voice to tell his story. The closest they would get to finding out the truth was when the caretaker admitted that he had come in the next day and found the boy dead on the ground, sprawled at bottom of the stairs. That it was well known for Tommy to be a bit of a trouble maker within the school, that he figured Tommy must have taken it too far and someone finally stood up to him, so the caretaker… took care of it. He made him his own tomb under the staircase out of respect, but also to keep the anonymous guilty student’s crime safe and secret. _But_ they found scratch marks on the walls; he wasn’t dead when he was sealed in his tomb. The caretaker’s truth is not the truth but it’s close, I’m sure. Still, Tommy’s friends insisted he was a friendly and gentle person, it made no sense. There are so many unanswered questions to this day.” Specs breathed in, his throat sore from all the talking.

Tucker feels goosebumps crawl up and around his body. He hauls himself up from the step. “You sure know how to tell a great ghost story, Specs. I got shivers.” Tucker jokes in attempt to lighten the mood. Specs just looks up at him with an unconvinced head-tilt. Now that Specs had stopped storytelling, Tucker could feel that ear hurting silence Specs had described the boys hearing when they found Tommy. Like it could swallow him up. Tucker wanted it gone. “So what now?” His voice loud and piercing, a challenge to the quiet.

 

“Now? Now we attempt to contact Tommy.” Specs smirks at Tucker, shaking his junk-device in the air.


End file.
